Good Food and Gratitude
by A. Windsor
Summary: Exile Fic. The Lance-al Ghuls spend Thankgiving in Starling City.


"I'm not sure how I feel about this particular holiday," Nyssa says, as if they weren't already on a private plane over the Atlantic. "Its origins are a bit distasteful."

As if they haven't celebrated it at least a handful of times since their half-grown teenage son was born.

"The Pilgrims' treatment of the Wampanoag was vile," eight-year-old Azra says in agreement. "Though it was only one story in a several hundred year history of genocide."

"Guys, yes, I understand – " Sara starts, but six-year-old Soraya interrupts:

"Mama, why didn't the League intervene?"

Glad to have the heat of uncomfortable historical questioning turned on someone else, Sara echoes:

"Yeah, Mama."

Nyssa cuts her an annoyed glare. Behind their little quadrangle of seats, Damian chuckles.

"Perhaps that is something we can research in the archives when we return to Nanda Parbat."

Sara's surprised that Azra doesn't immediately rattle off the answer, but her gray eyes are alight with the opportunity. Soraya groans.

"We are going to spend time with family, eat good food, and be grateful. If you also want to remind anyone dressed as a Pilgrim or an Indian about all the genocide, I support that one hundred percent."

Damian is still laughing, despite wearing big earphones and pretending that fourteen is too old to enjoy family conversations.

Sara switches topics to make sure their youngest is prepared to see her cousins.

"Okay, so when we see the twins, we say 'Hi Vivi and…"

"Quint!" Soraya says brightly. "And Quint is a _boy_ and a _he_. Quentin Bartholomew Ramon-Lance. So many names."

"So many letters," Damian pipes up.

Sara laughs. "Perils of letting a five year old pick his own name."

Quint named himself after two of his favorite family members, but Sara was surprised he didn't pick Damian. Quint's idolized his older cousin since he could walk, toddling around after him whenever they get together.

They'll be spending Thanksgiving in Starling this year: Laurel is hosting as many as they can fit into their brownstone, though thankfully Sara and her family will be occupying the Bird's Nest for the duration of their stay.

Rocket jumps out of Soraya's lap, across the aisle, and into Sara's lap in one smooth motion. Impressive.

"So what is the first thing everyone wants to do when we touch down in Starling City?"

Damian and Soraya chorus:

"Big Belly Burger!"

* * *

Damian has fully developed the League's detachment from times zones (and needs quite a bit of sleep as a growing teenager). Azra has not yet developed that skill, but she is alternating reading and meditating until she is tired enough to sleep.

Soraya and Sarookh, unfortunately, need to me run. That's easier done with Sarookh, who passes out after the twenty minutes of wind sprints Nyssa has the two of them run on the grassy balcony. Soraya needs… more.

First stop: the Bird's Nest's salmon ladder. Soraya does not need to be prompted: she knows she must go, up and down, until Nyssa says otherwise. She hasn't lost a step yet, and Nyss knows this could be a long night. At least it will pay off tomorrow, she hopes.

Sara, in her pajamas, arms wrapped around her middle, wanders down from the bedroom, grinning at the salmon ladder and its repetitive occupant.

"Still at it?"

"Mm. She'll never sleep otherwise."

"Good thing we don't need much," Sara says, leaning against her warmly. That statement is quite true, and a blessing in the raising of Soraya. "What's next?"

"Two hundred push ups. That'll be quieter so that the rest of the household may sleep."

"You're a good mama," Sara praises, kissing her cheek. "Can I take the four-legged one up to bed with me?"

Nyssa nods towards the couch where Sarookh snores.

"Hopefully she'll help you feel less lonely," Nyssa teases.

"Lonely?! You know I love a bed to myself," Sara winks.

"Mommy, watch!" Soraya interrupts, flipping herself over to hang from her knees.

Nyssa sighs. Soraya waves.

"That is not the assignment, Al Ameerah," Nyssa tuts, even as Soraya flips herself back over. One hand slips, and Nyssa starts forward even as, laughing, Soraya catches herself with the other, swinging. Nyssa gives in to a moment's frustration – raising a child so energetic and yet so reckless is the greatest test she's ever faced.

"Come down," Nyssa says, firm but calm. She is grateful that, rather than simply dropping from the top, Soraya works the bar down the salmon ladder to its lowest run and easily lands on her feet.

"Two hundred push up. Count them in Hindi," she orders, but gently. They must obey her without question – their lives depend upon it – but she never wants them to fear her, the way an undercurrent of fear lingered in even her warmest interactions with her father.

"Yes, Mama," Soraya falls to the mat, still grinning. At least she is, at most times, a very good tempered child, her anger fierce but flaming out quickly.

"We'll be to bed in due course," Nyssa says, and Sara kisses her warmly, then leans down to ruffle their 'Energizer bunny's hair.

"Goodnight, _ya binti_."

"Night, Mommy," Soraya huffs through her exercises.

* * *

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," Sara says solemnly to her gathered troops, "Is to brave those terrible trenches and emerge victorious."

Her soldiers – Sin, Cisco, Stella, and Azra – all nod solemnly. Soraya and the twins have been taken to one of Aunt Thea's empty nightclubs, deemed too dangerous to have in the house and too distracting for their ongoing mission.

"Stay on target, no distraction – definitely no Christmas candy." She looks sternly at the two adults. "I know we can make it out alive."

"I love when you guys come to visit," Sin grins.

Sara ruffles their hair.

"Alright. Is everyone ready?"

Azra nods shortly. Stella, clinging to Azra's hand, gives a grin and a big thumbs up. Sin assents. Cisco –

"Wait," Cisco says. "Before we go in there, I want to say something."

Sara allows it.

"I know we're going in there because of my actions, and I want to say thank you. You're the real Turkey Day heroes."

Sara gives him an affectionate eyeroll and a punch in the shoulder.

"What's family for?" She turns serious again. "Does everyone have their assignments?"

They each hold a piece of paper.

"Great. Let's go."

Three steps through the sliding glass doors of a grocery store the day before Thanksgiving, Sara groans:

"Why couldn't the Speedster do this?!"

* * *

"I know Cisco's doing penance, but what did the rest of them do to deserve this?" Quentin asks, sipping on his hot cider.

"They volunteered!" Laurel reminds, stirring the pie filling on the stove. Beside her in her lovely kitchen, Nyssa and Damian are chopping vegetables for the stuffing. Quentin has graduated to supervisor of these meals. The first year had felt like a slight, but he's come to embrace the perks of being a grumpy old man. And with half his family out on errands, it's downright peaceful in here.

"Who has it worse, you think?" he muses. "The grocery crew or Aunt Thea and the Hyperactive Trio?"

Nyssa chuckles, and Quentin grins. He's getting pretty good at making her laugh.

"Aunt Thea _also_ volunteered," Laurel notes.

"They're renovating the club next week. She's using them to clear all the chairs," Damian says.

"Thea continues to demonstrate that she received all of the brains in that family," Nyssa says dryly, and now Quentin laughs. Their favorite shared interest.

"I'm not sure about So', but I'm not sure my five-year-old twins are going to be much help in that," Laurel grins.

"I don't know… Soraya's a terrible influence," Damian says.

Quentin wouldn't say _terrible_, but one thing they all have to watch on the rare occasions the family is all together is fearless Soraya leading her adoring twin cousins into all kinds of mischief.

"So, how many are we having tomorrow?" Quentin asks.

"All of us," Laurel says, referring to his six grandkids, three kids, and three in-laws who've been running all over Laurel and Cisco's brownstone all day. "Plus Mom and Richard. And Ollie. So sixteen."

Quentin keeps himself from making a face. Oliver is his daughter-in-law's brother, after all, and he does feel some sympathy, this being Queen's first Thanksgiving in the middle of a tough divorce. He can't imagine what it must be like to spend the holiday away from five-year-old Grace and three-year-old Robbie, who Felicity has taken to her mom's in Vegas.

But he really, really thought he'd dodged the "holiday meals with Oliver Queen" bullet.

"If we're cooking for sixteen, there's gotta be something I can do to help."

Laurel qipes a hand on Damian's apron and then grabs a stack of cloth napkins.

"Sure. Start folding."

* * *

Soraya assesses the safety of her next limb, then remembers her mothers' reminders and reassess with consideration of her cousins' lesser training.

It is cold, she notes but does not mind. She is wearing a hat and fingerless gloves at Gran's insistence, not because she _needs _them. League assassins don't feel cold – plus, y'know, born in the Himalayas.

Vivi's and Quint's backyard is pretty small, and the tree is pretty _tall_, but Soraya has shimmied up it, no problem, and she's surprised when the twins do the same. Tae Kwon Do isn't League training, but she is duly impressed. They make it all the way up and back down. Soraya's even on the ground before they get caught.

"Hey!" Aunt Laurel cries. "Get down this – "

Vivi is halfway down and drops with a bit of stumble. Quint is still on a mid-level branch, though, and the nervous boy is startled by his mother's appearance. He loses his footing, and then his grip.

Crap.

Soraya sees the foot go first, and she pushes Vivi out of the way. Quint's arms pinwheel as he falls, and he definitely smacks her right in the eyes when she catches him. Or, half-catches him, half breaks his fall. He's not _that_ much smaller than her. Her butt hits the ground, hard, and she winces. She hears parents coming, but she focuses on her breathless cousin, tears tracking his face.

"You okay, Quinty?" she asks softly. He nods and wipes his nose with his gloved hand.

"Thanks, So-So."

"I got your back," she says like they do in the movies.

Aunt Laurel has scooped up Quint, checking him for injuries and, seeing he's okay, starts to go to Soraya.

"So-So, are you-"

"Al Ameerah," her mama's voices cuts across the backyard, and she knows the next words will be in emphatic Arabic. "_Are you injured?"_

Soraya, sitting up now on the hard, cold earth, rolls out all her joints. She doesn't feel anything broken. Her tummy hurts, cause Quint is _not_ light, and her eyes stings, but otherwise:

"_No, Mama_."

"_Were you doing something unduly dangerous?_"

Soraya considers protesting that _no_, she _assessed_ the risk, but… that's not a good idea.

"_Yes, Mama._"

"Hmm."

Mama is beside her now, squatting with her hand on Soraya's shoulder.

"_You could have gotten seriously hurt or killed. You could have gotten seriously hurt or killed. You could have gotten your cousins seriously hurt or killed."_

Soraya's lower lip juts out, but she yanks it back at her mother's raised eyebrow.

"_I'm sorry, Mama._"

"To your aunt," Mama says in English.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Laurel," Soraya says contritely.

"Oh baby girl, it's okay. Your cousins know better, too."

Quint has pushed his guilty face into his mom's shoulder, and Vivi leans on her other side.

"Are you okay, Soraya?" Aunt Laurel asks.

"She's fine," Mama says. "She's very tough." Mama puts a thumb under Soraya's eye gently, and Soraya hisses.

"I think I got a shiner," Soraya grins.

Mama sighs. Aunt Laurel laughs.

"An ice pack and a quiet place for her to contemplate his misbehavior would be appreciated," Mama says, and Soraya fails to suppress her groan. Mama's eyebrow cuts off the verbal protest, though.

"These two are straight to time out, too," Aunt Laurel says. "You can use our room."

Mama nods and lifts Soraya onto her hip.

"_I can walk_," Soraya complains in Pashto.

"_I am aware_," Mama replies in kind, then kisses her temple. Soraya relaxes into her hold then, resting her head on mama's comfy shoulder.

"_I still get _turkey_, right?" _Soraya asks.

Mama sighs heavily.

That's a yes.

* * *

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Sara groans, watching Nyssa disappear with Soraya up the stairs, Cisco behind them positioning Vivi on the top stair, Quint on the bottom.

"Stop. They know better, too," Laurel brushes her off.

"I know but she's… a bad influence. They can't be this naughty when she's not here."

"Oh, they are, just less… neckbreaky," Laurel sighs.

Sara grimaces. And this is Soraya, on her _good_ behavior. She tries to be sensitive to the fact that her family just occasionally tornadoes into Laurel's life.

"At least we'll be gone next week," Sara quips.

"Don't say that," Laurel says sharply. "I can handle a little extra chaos. I love every moment you're here." She enfolds Sara in an embarrassing big sister hug. "But right now, I need to take your kid an ice pack, though I think it's too late to avoid this year being the year Soraya has a black eye in the Christmas card photo."

* * *

"Never a dull moment," Dinah grins as the children all fall boisterously into their seats. Quint has recovered from his scare, and he's pulled his chair up close to Damian's, soaking in his every word.

Sara laughs, enjoying the rare moment of being with both her parents. Rocket jumps opportunistically from one lap to another, constantly getting put back on the ground before she can get anything. She huffs dramatically.

"Rocket sure is spry for over fifteen," Quentin notes innocently.

"Oh, she has her secrets," Sara says, grinning wryly. Sara has her own theories as to why Rocket hasn't aged very much at all in the last fifteen years, most of them involving Ra's al Ghul and his fondness for the pup.

At least dogs have incorruptible souls.

"It's so nice to have us all together, incorrigible granddogs and naughty grandchildren and all," Dinah sighs.

"When are we going to have this again?" Quentin asks.

Her mom gives him a reproachful look.

"We're happy to have you whenever," Dinah says quickly.

"Of course," her dad recovers.

Sara swallows her sigh. She knows she's not here enough for them, but…

"We're so busy, but we always make it," is all Sara says. "Maybe next summer we can all meet up somewhere?"

She doesn't say _what_ they're busy doing, doesn't mention that with Damian's League responsibilities increasing, it is even harder to get the five of them in one place at one time. Her mom might be able to handle that, but her dad? There are boundaries they don't cross, for everyone's comfort.

"Do you remember the Thanksgiving when Sara was almost seven?" Dinah changes the topic ably.

Her dad's pensive face turns into a wide grin.

"Is that the one where she refused under any circumstances to _sit down_?"

Sara groans.

"That's the one," her mom grins.

"So stubborn," Quentin says warmly.

"Always," Dinah laughs. "Sometimes I think the most surprising thing about Soraya and you is that there _isn't_ a blood relation."

"Grandma was so mad you didn't make me sit down," Sara smiles. "Thanks for letting me be a rebel."

"We couldn't have _made_ you sit down if we tried," her dad shakes his head.

* * *

Between Laurel, Nyssa, and Damian, dinner for sixteen is pulled off miraculously well. Of course it is. They even settle in for a nice family photo, starring Soraya's shiner, and an early viewing of _Muppet Christmas Carol_, since they won't be together for the actual Christmas holiday.

The younger kids all fall asleep, and they're left as they are for the night, with godspeed to Cisco and Laurel in the morning.

Cisco quirks a grin. "Are we sure she's not a meta?"

"Where are they encountering radiation in the Hindu Kush?" Sara raises a brow.

Cisco laughs.

"She's just… energetic."

"She makes the Speedster twins look lazy," Cisco says fondly.

"Fair enough. Call if they get to be too much to handle."

Cisco salutes and sends her out the door. Damian has opted to crash with Aunt Sin and Aunt Thea after a late night showing of some blockbuster.

So Sara and Nyssa (and Rocket) are headed back to a completely empty Bird's Nest. Which honestly? Sounds freaking delightful.

"Turkey was good," Sara says as they get into the car.

"Thank you. Laurel and I slightly altered the stuffing recipe."

"It was good," Sara nods, leaning heavily against the passenger door.

"Don't tell me you are falling prey to the tryptophan?"

"Only because I choose to," Sara announces contentedly, belly full.

"If you fall asleep, I'll leave you in the car."

"No, you won't," Sara calls her bluff. She flips on the radio. Christmas music. She lets her eyes drift shut with a smile.

"It is still November," Nyssa complains. Sara ignores her. She feels a warm squeeze on her knee, and her smile grows. She surrenders to the turkey.

* * *

fin


End file.
